


Little Lion Man

by McHiddles



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Game of Thrones Season 4, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2019-03-17 11:11:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13657812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/McHiddles/pseuds/McHiddles
Summary: Tyrion is burning his bridges.He just never expected to be followed by the embers.





	Little Lion Man

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I finally did it- I posted a fanfiction. I've actually had this one rattling around my folder for a year, so I hope you enjoy it!  
> P.S. I do not own the great Tyrion :)

Tyrion was in the process of drinking himself under the table when he heard gentle footsteps patter into his tent. He didn’t bother looking up- instead he continued forth on his mission. With none by his side, friend nor foe, he had challenged the gods both old and new to a drinking competition. With his current progress, Tyrion began to suspect he might win.  
For once, he hoped he was wrong.  
“Have they sent you here to spy on me?” Tyrion asked wryly, a pained smile painting his face. The ways of the court will never change, and neither will his own. Such things were consistencies, he could trust in his understanding of fools from across the sea.  
Trust.  
It seems the shards of one’s broken trust hurts twice as much when the swordsman, or swordswoman, stabs them so close to home. Tyrion glowered at the chalice of wine in his hand, and drank to his... trust. So blinding, he never saw it coming.  
“Yes, m’lord.”  
Tyrion was shaken out of his routine brooding at the sound of a woman’s voice. Nothing like her voice, thank the gods, but a woman’s voice nonetheless. He examined his glass once more, almost expecting to see the woman conjured in its reflection.  
“I’m sorry...?” Tyrion clarified, his mind a blur. Perhaps he had slightly overdone it with the wine...  
“You asked if I was sent to spy on you. I said yes, I was,” She paused. “M’lord.”  
At the sound of her words, the halfman lifted his bleary eyes from their station and settled on the figure of a woman. Through the haze of his drunkenness, he could even see she was a beautiful woman. And so the fruit comes to taunt... He thought to himself.  
“Is that so? And what was to be their excuse?” Tyrion finally replied, regarding the lady carefully.  
“I am to be whatever you need- a servant, a slave, a wife, a whore- anything and everything.” Her words were candid, uncensored. She never lowered her chin below her own throat and her eyes never left the visage of her new liege. Not a challenge, but acceptance.  
Tyrion paused, pretending to consider her “offer”, and spent the time examining her more closely. His verdict brought him conflicting results.  
She stood like a lady, her palms together, her posture gentle but strong. In fact, everything about the way she presented herself reminded him of Sansa Stark. If not for the warm green eyes and the braided brown hair resting on her right shoulder, he might even call her a spitting image of his almost niece. But just as the picture was perfect, it was equally false.  
The attitude spoke words beyond the pretty picture, so incongruous with the image Tyrion felt as if his head might explode, although, perhaps that could be blamed on the wine. Her quiet defiance and brutal honesty suggested wildling, a tamed one at that. She was her own little puzzle, everything right and wrong and everything the halfman did not want to deal with- not now, not ever. There was a reason why Tyrion left King’s Landing, and she was exactly what he hoped would never follow.  
Finally, he spoke.  
“So many options,” Tyrion joked sarcastically. “What would you suggest I do with you?” He raised his eyes to share a friendly, albeit hollow, smile.  
“Probably best to kill me, m’lord.” She responded, so casually and so certainly Tyrion had to wonder if he’d somehow misheard her. Her eyes suggested otherwise.  
“Kill you!” He sputtered back. “And why would I do that with such a lovely gift as yourself?” A part of him was being the classic humorous halfman, a character he almost believed to be true, but another half (technically a quarter, in his case) was dying to know her answer.  
“I suspect there won’t be reports to give if there are no little birds to hear them.”  
“Ah, Varys then. Although I must admit, this is far more Baelish’s style.”  
“A joint effort, m’lord.” Her lips seemed to twitch into a smile, but the moment was so fleeting, Tyrion almost missed it. Almost. Her eyes never showed the betrayal of her mouth.  
“And would you wish me to take your life, my dear...?”  
“Yira. And there is nothing you could take from me, lord, that I have not already seen destroyed.” For the first time, Tyrion saw the fire in her eyes- previously restrained, but now fully burning. For a moment, he seemed to be lost in the flames, almost reveling in the mirrored pain. He brought himself back. No use hiding here.  
“Well, that makes two of us.” Tyrion slumped back into his chair and downed the rest of his wine. As if on cue, the woman strode to the pitcher of wine and refilled his glass. He chuckled mirthlessly.  
“Trying to win my favour?”  
“No, little l-”  
“Don’t-”  
“-ord.”  
Tyrion paused, his mind buzzing. It was so unlike him to jump to conclusions, but with the words he thought he heard on her lips... The “Little Lion” clenched his eyes together, bidding his pounding headache to grow stronger still. At least he wouldn’t be able to think-  
“I’m sorry, m’lord.” She stepped back quickly, the pitcher still in her hands. She appeared almost sorrowful. Tyrion thanked the gods for her absent pity.  
“So, Yira. Yira the Free Woman,” Green eyes snapped up to meet blue ones. “What brings you so far south?”  
“The only thing that might compel a man such as yourself to travel north of the wall.” She responded, her irritation apparent. Tyrion merely chuckled at her anger.  
“It is an odd thing to find oneself as a spoil of war, isn’t it? I found myself in such a position when traveling with Cat-”  
“-elyn Stark, of House Tully.”  
Tyrion paused once again. A wildling, and a learned one at that? She must have scoured many a tavern for such knowledge, it’s unlikely any books or songs would have been written on the subject. The halfman couldn’t help being intrigued.  
“Not many would bestow the Lady Stark a former title.” Tyrion remarked smiling.  
“Family. Duty. Honor.” She answered easily. “Unless, m’lord, you think ‘Winter is Coming’ suited her more? After all, you knew her better than I.”  
Tyrion laughed at this. A quick, almost pained laugh, but a laugh nonetheless.  
“Well, I think I’ll keep you.” Tyrion said, still snickering quietly. “But when the Bird and the Spider ask for their report, do come to me so that we might discuss it together,” He paused, and quickly added with a wink, “A joint effort if you will.”  
“As you wish, m’lord.” Yira smiled.  
Tyrion decided then and there that he rather liked the sparks in her eyes when she smiled.


End file.
